


Assumptions

by astolat



Series: POI works [32]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Oblivious, Sex Pollen, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astolat/pseuds/astolat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"No," John said. "We hadn't."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assumptions

Objectively, he supposed, the situation ought to have been terrifying. But Harold had been unable to muster any sense of fear, despite Shaw's urgent voice, sharp with worry: "Listen to me, Harold, I'm too far away. Get out before he gets there! He got a triple dose, there's no way to tell what he's going to do."

"Thank you for the warning, Ms. Shaw," he said. "Is there an antidote?"

"No," she said. "It's just got to wear off. At least five hours, probably more with how much he got." 

"Understood," Harold said, and hung up. He checked the GPS: John was still nine minutes away. He went out and bought a six-pack of water at the corner shop and brought it back, inflated the air mattress, and put on the sheets. He didn't feel alarmed; merely grateful that John had enough homing instinct to come back to him instead of roaming wild, giving Harold the opportunity to protect him -- in whatever way it proved necessary, although he felt reasonably sure his basic measures would serve perfectly well. 

His instincts were confirmed. John staggered up the stairs, flushed, eyes blown, sweating; he caught Harold by the arms and kissed him once, twice, saying, "Please -- please." 

"Hush," Harold said gently. "Come and lie down." 

John's hands fell away. He stumbled after Harold into the back room and sat heavily down on the airbed. He drank the bottle of water Harold gave him and lay down, docile. Harold began reading to him. 

Shaw came charging in some fifteen minutes later and stopped in the doorway; Harold glanced up at her and nodded a greeting without pausing. John was lying on the bed with his eyes half-closed, his hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically. She withdrew. 

Harold felt a glow of intense private satisfaction when John finally fell asleep, nearly two hours later. He left another bottle of water by the bed and went back to his computers: he had enough data now to trace the distribution network back to its ultimate source, and find whatever underground laboratory was supplying this charming new designer drug to the city's predators. 

He dozed off at the desk several hours later, shortly after he'd sent Detective Fusco the details and started one of his cracking utilities running on the manufacturer's offshore bank accounts: he could think of several worthy causes who could stand some sizable donations. He stirred a little when a cup came down by his head and roused blearily in sunlight: John was standing by the desk. 

"Good morning," Harold said, stifling a yawn, and drank his tea, still piping hot. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes," John said. He was staring over Harold's head, fixedly. "Harold -- " His voice sounded strained, congested.

In his own defense, Harold had just woken up after inadequate sleep, and the screen was showing him half a dozen of the accounts broken so far. He was listening with fragmented attention, thinking about worthwhile angles to focus the cracking utility on for the rest of them, and it took his brain several moments to process that John was apologizing. Harold looked up with a gathering frown of confusion. John was still avoiding his gaze, and there was something stricken in his face. 

"Mr. Reese, you were drugged," he said, doubtful; John wasn't given to this particular species of exaggeration. They both had more than enough sins to carry without throwing accidents into the bargain. 

John didn't say anything for a moment. "You know how the stuff works, Finch."

Harold immediately cast back over the details and still found nothing to clarify the cause of John's visible misery. "I do," he said. "What exactly is it that you're apologizing for?" 

"For -- " John stopped. "Not apologizing," he said finally. "Just -- making sure you know it won't be an issue." 

"What won't be an issue?" Harold said, even more bewildered, and then, "Do you mean that -- " He stared at John. "But -- "

John finally looked down at him, his rigid expression beginning to soften into confusion of his own. Harold pushed back his chair and turned to face him. "John," he said, "correct me if I'm wrong, but I was under the impression we'd tacitly agreed to sublimate our mutual attraction into -- " 

John seized him by the lapels of his jacket, dragged him up, and kissed him fervently. Startled and wobbling, Harold gripped onto John's shoulders. John maneuvered him deftly through the doorway into the back room and down onto the air mattress. They landed with a thump.

# 

Three hours later, John said, "No. We hadn't." 

"So I gathered," Harold said, dazedly. 

# End


End file.
